Harmonia | Pokémon Fanfiction

41 | For Whom The Bell Tolls

Music in media: For Whom The Bell Tolls by Bee Gees

18 March, Friday, 4 p.m. | Spring

Celestial Tower, Rae soon learned, was a burial place for departed Pokémon. According to Skyla, every citizen of Mistralton had lost at least one Pokémon to old age or accidents, usually the former. Now abruptly released from the perverted music's grasp, their melancholy, factored in by the grief of losing their beloved companions, spilled out of them. Some cried non-stop, some clutched their chests, some grew stoic and stared hard at the expanse before them... There was no one way to grief and each way was just as hurtful, however they'd manifested. The only way to provide solace would be ringing the bell at the top of Celestial Tower.

As they hiked up the stairs, Rae spied a vibrant orange tuft partially obscured by the stairwell. It was Alder. Unmistakably.

His kneeling figure, clad in a fiery kimono, came into full view when they reached the floor. Alder had his hands clasped together, his head bowed till his lips were kissing his fingertips, his shivering eyes fixated on a grave ash grey as any other. He looked serene. Perhaps it was because he, too, only entered the city's premises not long ago, making him somewhat immune to the music restoration's aftermath.

Rae craned her neck out of curiosity and spotted the monochromatic picture of a Volcarona on the grave, the words Volcarona, Alder's beloved spanning vertically below. She wanted to remind the group now was not the time, but Skyla refused to make a move. The silence grew impalpable till Alder rose, his hair like the morning sun and turned around to face them.

"It's been some time since we met," said the man of the woods. "What brings you here?"

"We have to ring the bell to soothe the city." Skyla said before recounting in detail what had happened in so concise a manner that Rae admired her calm and composure.

Alder scratched his chin and shook his head. "The normal way won't do. There is a more effective way. But it takes time." He gestured at a flight of stairs to the next floor up, one floor below the bell. "The spirit of a Defeatist Archeops resides in the golden grave there. Awaken it. Let it glide from a distance to put beak to bell. However, I'm afraid special feathers dropped by Ducklett and Swanna over bridges are required to convince it to fly."

Grimly, Rae furnished the kaleidoscopic feathers Icosa had retrieved back then. Health Wing, Muscle Wing, Resist Wing, Genius Wing, Clever Wing, and Swift Wing. One of each.

Alder's eyes radiated surprise. He forced his jaws together before they could droop. Was this coincidence or foresight? No, it didn't matter now.

"I will leave you to it," he said and entwined his hands behind his back. "My time is over at last. Young people these days never fail to amaze me."

"Where are you going?" Skyla frowned. "Aren't you going to stay and watch?"

Alder cocked his head sideways with a smirk as he turned his back against the crew. "Need I?"

And he went on his lackadaisical way.

Skyla took the lead once more. When they arrived, they saw the grave was golden as sand in an hourglass. The Archeops had no name and the picture revealed that it was quite ordinary after all. It looked like any other Archeops—its featherless and scaly head red with a green stripe running along the top, body draped with frayed-looking yellow and blue feathers on its arms and legs so its limbs were like wings except they had razor claws attached to them, a ring of smaller green feathers on its ankles, a red and featherless tail save for a fan of blue feathers at the end—but that was the point of it, no? That the most special creatures were ordinary beings like everyone else. All living entities have their list of achievements—feats, even—deeds they celebrated or scorned or paid no mind to—many a time just the tender affair of waking up another day is something to be proud of.